


Blackmail Material

by no_ah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beauxbatons, Closeted, Comfort/Angst, Coming Out, Dancing, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Precious Slytherins, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Veela, Wix fashion, Yule Ball talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_ah/pseuds/no_ah
Summary: Back a couple of months ago, he’d just ignored the funny feeling he got at the sight of his sweaty classmates changing after quidditch practice. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to think about it, and then he could pretend it wasn’t happening.Of course that whole concept was inherently flawed. He could live in denial all he wanted, it didn’t make the fact that he was gay any less true. Still he had tried to cling to his construct, like a naïve little child. After all, he hadn’t been rightfully sorted into Slytherin if he shouldn’t be able to bend the truth a little to his convenience every now and then.Set in 4th year, a couple of weeks before the Yule Ball.





	1. Blackmail material

Draco quickly dragged the back of his hand over his face. Now the skin there was all wet, which was a side effect he hadn’t taken into account. Usually he wouldn’t have done it if he’d been _Imperiused_ to do so, but this whole situation was anything _but_ _usual_ , and it called for desperate measures. He pulled down his sleeve over his hand and dried his face with the fabric. The tip of his nose was ice cold. When he went to rearrange his shirt, he saw a string of snot shining white against the cotton grey. An involuntary sniff escaped him and he shook his head.

This whole situation was so fucked up.

“I—,” his voice came out weak. He cleared his throat. “I haven’t told anyone,” he said to the flames climbing up the chimney. The glazed bricks of the fireplace doubled the green light with its reflection. Draco had always wondered if the fires in the Ravenclaw tower were blue, and if the Hufflepuff fires just looked like regular fires. He didn’t plan on asking.

“It’s not like I’ll ever _do anything_ about it,” he tried for a sarcastic laugh, “Could you even imagine!” Pansy didn’t join in. She hadn’t made a sound since he’d started. A log cracked in the fire, emitting green sparks. Nothing about this was funny. It had never been funny. And it would ever only be pathetic.

Back a couple of months ago, he’d just ignored the funny feeling he got at the sight of his sweaty classmates changing after quidditch practice. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to think about it, and then he could pretend it wasn’t happening.

Of course that whole concept was inherently flawed. He could live in denial all he wanted, it didn’t make the fact that he was gay any less true. Still he had tried to cling to his construct, like a naïve little child. After all, he hadn’t been rightfully sorted into Slytherin if he shouldn’t be able to bend the truth a little to his convenience every now and then.

However, bending the truth, especially a little, only took you so far. It only ever worked trying to hide things from _other_ people. And that required acknowledging what the fuck it was that you were trying to hide.

At the beginning of the year, the castle had been flooded with foreign students. And suddenly, there were achingly fit Durmstrang contestants turning his head, and Beauxbaton’s most elite young wizards filled the halls of Hogwarts with the beautiful sounds of Draco’s second language. It took him back to all the summers spent with his parents at their estate in the vineyards of France.

He could have ended up at that school, but his parents had preferred to send him to Hogwarts for the sole reason that it would spare him one year. Still, French wizarding society had always struck him as more distinguished, more noble, more elegant, and so the people in it.

One particularly sunny morning he’d slipped up and replied a greeting in French on his way to breakfast. It took him actual physical force to restrain from getting pulled into a conversation with the incredibly blue-eyed Beauxbaton boy. Looking at his beaming smile when he realized Draco was fluent made his stomach twist. Draco had stumbled away, and was sure to this moment that the boy must have _some_ amount of Veela-blood running through his veins. Either way, it had been a turning point.

After some careful evaluation, he’d gotten fed up with feeling like a blatant idiot and decided to accept this piece of information about himself. Then he’d carefully stored it away with the other few things he’d take to his grave. Blackmail material. It was important to know yourself, to prioritize, in order to ensure your enemies never found out your weaknesses.

It was only rational. He owned this knowledge now. He’d make sure no one else ever got their hands on it.

Except—well.

He suppressed the urge to rub his hands together. Instead, he drew circles with his chilling fingers on the armrests, the slightly worn-out satin upholstery, aiming for casual. It felt rough under his touch. He was shaking, though maybe not from the cold.

What the fuck had gotten him into spilling.

Pansy had grown close to him, closer than Vince and Greg. They were a bit like puppies, loyal and a tad servile. They lacked the wit or commitment to scheme on their own, but were always looking to make themselves useful.

Last Halloween, when he’d been lying in bed with a cold, they’d managed to sneak out a whole three-course-meal for him from the Great Hall down to the dungeons, complete with plates and cutlery and an entire fucking gravy boat with custard to pour over a slice of dessert-pie. It was the most disgustingly _Hufflepuff_ thing anyone had ever done for him. He was quite fond of them. And he would never trust them with anything.

But Pansy had gotten under his skin, and he’d been too involved in his own affairs to notice it happening. Reckless. She was vicious, it was one of the reasons why he liked her so much. The cleverest witch he knew.

So it was only wise to be terrified out of his mind right now, though undoubtedly would have been _wiser_ not to slip up to her in the fucking first place.

It must have been the storm. Storms always unsettled him. Down here you couldn’t hear the shrieking wind and the rustling trees from the forest, but the light was different. Usually you were able to see a couple of yards through the dim-green, mostly clear water through the thick glass out into the lake. If you stood close enough to the huge window and looked up, you could even see the surface on especially nice days. Today however, the water had been grey and dark, not a single thing moving there all afternoon. It felt ominous. Unsettling.

“Do you want to go to the yule ball with me.”

Draco looked at her in shock. “What. What the hell, Pansy? Did you not just hear what—” Stupid. Of course she’d heard him.

“Of course I fucking heard you,” she grimaced and now it was her, keeping her eyes firmly on the fire.

“Right.” He hesitated. “So… why.”

She didn’t reply right away, giving him an awful couple of moments to race through his mind searching for her possible agenda. He’d expected her to laugh at him, more likely to yell. Or even get up and leave. It would have been awful, but he’d anticipated it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

“Neither did you.”

She rolled her eyes and shuffled forward in her chair, propping her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands before she pinned him down with a stern gaze. “Look. I don’t mean to presume.”

Draco blinked and waited for her to continue. She didn’t. “Right,” he said intelligently, and then silence fell again in which they both just blatantly stared at the other. Surely he was missing a point here. Or maybe she was just playing a joke on him because—what could she possibly be getting at. He swallowed.

“You want to go to the Yule ball with me,” he summarized.

“No.” She frowned, like that should have been obvious.

“Right,” he said, again. This was ridiculous. “Then why did you ask.”

This time, Pansy did laugh, a dry unbelieving laugh.

“Draco Malfoy, considering that you’re one of the most cunning people I know, you can be awfully slow on the uptake.”

“Well, considering _you_ are one of the most eloquent people _I_ know you’re evidently doing a terrible job at making yourself be understood,” he shot back, but the fact they were both grinning at each other now filled him with immense relief.

Pansy pushed some escaped stings of her raven hair back behind her ears. “Look,” she said, “we don’t have to do the whole thing where… you pour out your heart and then I tell you it’s all going to be fine because,” she crossed her legs and leant back in the armchair, “Well, I think we’d both regret _that_ later and also,” she looked at him with furrowed brows now, “I can’t really tell you that it will be fine, now, can I?”

Draco blinked at her.

“I mean it depends on how you’re planning on—“ She frowned. “Well, what you’re planning on doing with this.”

“I don’t plan on doing _anything_ with this,” Draco clarified. “What the fuck would I be _doing_ with this?”

Pansy gave him a _look_. “Well I can think of _one or two things_ and actually a bunch of _people_ that you could—“

“Pansy!” Draco gasped. She snickered. “Pansy,” he said again, and this time she stopped immediately at his voice. He chewed on his lip while he tried to find the right words without giving too much away. He came up blank.

“Why did you tell me,” she said quietly.

That was the big question, wasn’t it. He certainly hadn’t planned on it. He’d _planned_ on taking it to the fucking grave. He’d _planned_ to ignore it and just concentrate on other things, which had worked out well so far until those bloody French teenage wizards started flouncing about all over the fucking castle, making his blood boil under his skin. He’d _planned_ to maybe just let his parents set him up with a pureblood witch one day to continue his family legacy with, as was common practice among families like his—although he tried not to think about how he was going to spend his adult life too much. It made him sad, and scared of growing up, which was no use and not getting him anywhere.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. He propped his elbow on the armrest and buried his face in his hand, eyes closed shut. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Maybe you wanted someone to know,” she whispered back.

He snorted. “Why on earth would I possibly want anyone to know the single most awful thing about me.”

There was a rustling of fabric but he couldn’t bring himself to look up to see what Pansy was doing. He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder and lifted his head to find Pansy squatting before him.

“Draco, no.”

He blinked at her intense gaze. “What?”

“You really mean that, don’t you.”

“What,” he repeated and instinctively sat up a bit in his chair.

“You think this is an awful thing.”

Draco looked at her in disbelief. “You’re not seriously proposing the opposite is the case.”

She sighed and squeezed his arm. “You’re not going to feel like this forever.”

He took a second to process that. “If you are honestly about to tell me that this is a fucking _phase_ then I regret everything I’ve ever thought about you being intelligent,” he said dryly, “Because I  _wish_ , but I’m afraid I’m out of luck there.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re doing it again! You’re making this worse than it really is.”

Draco pushed her arm away and crossed his own before his chest. “Are you serious? _Worse than it is_? You did understand what I said earlier, yes? I’m fucking _bent_.” He couldn’t keep from flinching even at his own words and took a quick scan of the room, even though it had been just the two of them in here for hours now. “My father is going to kill me if he ever finds out. Which is why no one can find out. Ever. I don’t even know why I told _you._ I’d take it back if I could.”

She frowned at him. “See? Look. You already told me, even if you didn’t want to. Salazar knows why. It doesn’t matter. It’s going to happen again. You won’t keep this hidden your _entire life_ , that’s,” she laughed once, sharply, “that’s just insane. You’re not going to take this to the grave. It’s just not going to happen.”

He squint his eyes. “I don’t see any reason why anyone else should find out. Unless,” and he leaned forward into her space, trying for his best practiced threatening demeanour, “ _You_ plan on somehow slipping it to people. Which I would _strongly_ advise you against.”  
He had absolutely nothing to hold against her. This was no more than a pathetic empty threat, and she knew it. He was definitely at her mercy here.

“Draco, I’m all for scheming and holding secrets. We’re on the same page there. But this isn’t your cuddle blanket that you _still_ sleep with now, since you were 2 years old.”

His mouth dropped open and he felt heat rising in his cheeks. “How—how do you know about that?”

“Please.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, it’s not the same fucking thing. _That_ is something you _could_ take to the grave. Well, I mean, _I_ know— but hypothetically you could live and die without anyone ever knowing. _That_ is a secret you can keep. But this—this is—“ She looked around the room, avoiding his eyes, clearly uncomfortable.

“You know,” Draco interrupted her stuttering. He couldn’t take it. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he said bitterly. “Ever. I already feel bad enough without having you being unable to look me in the face. And _you’re_ taking it really fucking well. I imagine other people would not,” he shuddered. “I don’t really plan on finding out.”

Pansy looked like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. It would have been funny, especially considering that it should be him in that state, but he felt too repelled to even lift the corner of his mouth.

“No, listen to me. Fuck.” She shook her head slightly as if to straighten her thoughts. “I’m just not used to— nevermind. Fuck. I’m doing this.” She dropped to her knees on the thick carpet and placed both of her hands atop her thighs. She swallowed once before pinning him down with serious eyes. “This is a part of you. You shouldn’t have to hide a part of yourself.”

Draco snorted. “Are you sure you were sorted into Slytherin? Because that sounds like the opposite of everything I’ve ever heard you say before tonight.”

She pressed her lips together. “Well. Alright, I take that back. We do like to keep some things hidden. And fuck it, I am taking on anyone who tries to fight me on that it’s our bloody right to do so. But those are weaknesses, Draco. Things like cuddle blankets that we’d be ashamed if other people knew.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. Tell me again how you know about that?”

“I won’t,” she smirked. “Now shut up and listen. This is a part of you. It’s who you are. You simply won’t be able to hide it forever. Some way or another, some people will find out. Maybe one day everyone who knows you will know.” Draco stared at her while that terrifying idea sunk in.

“Oh Merlin,” he whispered. “No. I won’t let that happen.”

Pansy lifted her hand to his head and started stroking his hair. “Never forget what you are, Draco, for surely the world will not. But don’t you dare be ashamed, don’t you dare let it be a weakness. It’s going to destroy you from the inside if you do.” She smiled slowly at him. “You need to _own_ it. If it isn’t a secret, it can’t be turned into a weapon against you.”

She actually had a fucking point. “I can’t do that. I think—I’m not ready to do that,” he said quietly. His throat was dry and he swallowed hard.

“I figured,” she said, just as quiet. “But I think you will be one day. Take your time. But that needs to be the goal, not to blackmail yourself into feeling ashamed of who you are for the rest of your life. Don’t aim to take it to the grave. There’s no good outcome to that.”

She was still lazily stroking across his head, sending a comfortable tingling down his spine. It reminded him of his mother and made him feel sleepy. Oh Merlin, his mother. What would she _think._ He felt panic rise in his chest at the feeling that she would never stroke his hair again, show affection, maybe even _talk_ to him again if she found out.

“No, I _really_ can’t do that. Fuck,” he focussed on controlling his breathing and Pansy brought up her other hand to take his. Draco felt sappy and corny at their random display of affection, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Then don’t. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in a week, or even a year. No one said you had to blurt it out. Fuck, _I_ can’t tell you what to do with this. But you _did_ tell me. I just want you to—,” she cut herself off shaking her head, then firmly withdrew her hands and clasped them in her lap. “Not that I care. This is your mess, not mine. Do whatever you want,” she was probably trying for indifferent, but it came out half-hearted. Draco managed a laugh and she rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

“Wait,” he suddenly remembered. “Is _that_ why you brought up the Yule ball? To cover me?”

“Please,” she scoffed and straightened her shoulders. “Don’t flatter yourself. I could not care less about how you’re spending an evening of well-mannered lovey-dovey among an entire castle full of three schools worth of teenage couples.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and looked at him expectantly.

“So,” he tilted his head and looked down at her with a smirk. “Do you want to go to the Yule ball with me?”

She threw her head back in laughter. “No, I really fucking don’t.”

He grinned. “I’m an excellent dancer,” he baited.

“I bet you your silver-tipped peacock quill with the enhanced emeralds that I’m better,” she said, her eyes sparking with challenge.

“Well you’d have to actually go to the ball and dance with me to find out,” he paused, “Also, you can’t bet on something that doesn’t belong to you,” he protested, “What if I win?”

“You won’t,” she decided.

He ignored her. “How about if I win, you have to buy me a drink.”

“Don’t insult me, that’s hardly an equal bet for an actual piece of Malfoy heirloom,” she sounded genuinely offended.

“Of course not, but it doesn’t matter because I _am_ the more proficient dancer, and you’re going to get me a drink at the ball.”

“Don’t you have _any_ shame? That is ridiculous, and they won’t even _sell any drinks_ _there_ because it’s an _open bar_.”

“How convenient, so you really have nothing to lose,” he concluded with a mischievous grin, “Other than your honour, of course.”

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. “Not even in your wildest dreams, Draco Malfoy.”

“So that’s a yes, then? Or?”

She took his hand and squeezed it quickly before standing up and rearranging her skirt. “I was thinking Charcoal or Anthracite and Papaya Whip,” she pursed her lips. “Silver,” she added. “Ankles exposed.”

Draco raised a brow. “How daring.”

“Oh shut your mouth. I’m sick of stepping on my robes and I will _not_ freeze my kneecaps off in _this weather_ ,” she shuddered. “It’s going to be _snowing_.”

Draco splayed a hand across his chest in mocked shock. “But it’s for _fashion_!”

She sniffed. “Yes, well. They did it in Paris in the summer. It hasn’t caught up here in the Scottish countryside of course. Yet. I’m _bringing_ it to them. They should really _thank_ me,” she paused and frowned. “Although I suppose all the Beauxbatons will probably be going for that design, too.”

Draco watched as Pansy thoughtfully chewed on her lip for a while, eyes on the dark water of the lake behind the glass.

“You could go for a different headpiece,” he yawned. It had been late when they’d sat down as it were, the common room already empty of people. How much time had passed since then? “Or customized colours,” he added.

She hummed without tearing her eyes away from the window. “I’ll send you my colour palette in time,” she waved her hand dismissively. “You should consider a gore skirt. I’ll send you some sketches. It’ll suit you.” Then she turned and started towards the dorms.

“I know,” Draco mumbled, eyes glazing over as he stared at the dying flames of the fireplace. It really was time he went to sleep. “I’ll make it work. I actually _know_ how to make myself adequately presentable, mind you.”

“Oh, I’m very well aware,” she had reached the exit of the common room and he saw her turn around one last time in his periphery as she added more quietly “After all, I expect you’re not spending all that time in the closet for nothing.”


	2. Epilogue

This was it. This was the most uncomfortable Harry had ever been in his entire life. Where on earth was he supposed to _look_ —or _move_ , for that matter. Looking down to where he was stepping had just resulted in banging his forehead against Parvati’s nose, but she’d only shaken her head lightly while he’d mumbled his repeated apologies. He watched her face as she turned this way and that, giving looks of recognition over Harry’s shoulder to people in the crowd. The crowd that consisted of the entire student body of Hogwarts _and_ the upper years of Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, including the teachers. He decided _against_ following Parvati’s example because he really didn’t need a visual reminder that they were just the four couples on the huge frozen dancefloor, a thousand eyes watching him intently as Harry stepped on Parvarti’s toes— again.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he pleaded. Again. How was she still smiling this contently? Harry thought of an approximate dozen different places he’d rather be right now. Back in the dragon pit, for example, _without_ his Firebolt. McGonagall was definitely going to sentence him to detention, possibly consisting of dance lessons. He cringed. _Although_ —he dared to refrain from awkwardly staring at Parvati’s golden headband.

He scanned his surroundings, failing horribly at blending out all those _people_ circled around the dancefloor, and caught sight of Hermione. She was sweeping along the glassy crystal floor in Viktor Krum’s arms, swirling in a manner that was probably actually on beat, elegantly—living up to McGonagall’s expectations. Hermione was beaming, hopefully enough so to even out their house representation.

Good thing he hadn’t gotten any idea and gone ahead to ask her to the ball. She seemed to genuinely enjoy herself there, which – if he was being honest – he’d never have anticipated.

But Harry had given up on trying to understand why everyone was acting strange since the ball had been announced: Neville with his dance practice, and the entire student body freaking out over getting a date, even lessons being cancelled because teachers were organizing the decorating of the halls. And now Parvati seemed like she wouldn’t mind if this moment went on forever, which quite frankly was exactly what it felt like; an eternity of stepping onto his unfortunate dance partner’s toes, missing the beats and making an absolute complete fool of himself.

And _finally_ , the circle around the four couples broke, and Dumbledore entered the dance floor, soon followed by other teachers, and then enthusiastically giggling student couples to join in.

Harry froze in his step and let his hands drop to dangle next to his side. Parvati somehow managed to not bump into him at his sudden stop and looked at him with question.

“What is it, Harry?” she asked, leaning into him.

He shook his head and reached for her arm that was still resting on his shoulder.

“I—I can’t dance.”

Parvati pursed her lips.

“I mean—I don’t feel like dancing.” He started to look for a way out of the crowd that was moving vigorously around them. “Come on,” and he started manoeuvring towards the tables.

All the turning people and the music were making him dizzy, and he felt a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. Harry lifted his hand to wipe it off and pulled his hair back out of his face for better vision.

Some people were still looking at him. Harry turned his head and caught Malfoy averting his eyes, spinning Pansy Parkinson away from him along the dancefloor. He missed a step, and she let out a triumphant noise of delight while Malfoy pulled a grimace.

“That piece of Malfoy heirloom is _mine!_ ” Pansy cheered before they moved further away and the music tuned over Malfoy’s response.

Harry frowned and turned away, lest he overheard any more strange pet names he could really care to live without knowing.

They finally made it to the verge of the glass floor and Harry had time to take in the whole transformation the Great Hall had undergone, doubtlessly under the watchful eye of Professor Flitwick’s supervision.

The Great Hall had been magically enlarged, if it had seemed big before it was now about three times its usual size, to make room for not just Hogwarts’, but also the guest students and teachers dancing. Countless pine trees covered in silver tinsel were holding shining balls of magical light and guarded the doors and windows, the ceiling was showing a clear dark blue sky filled with stars, and in spite of the lacking clouds had snowflakes silently floating down that dissolved into glittery air just above their heads. This was probably what muggles meant when they thought of a “winter wonderland”.

Around two thirds of the people had moved to the dance floor while some were standing around just watching or talking, and Harry tried to make out Ron somewhere around the seating area.

“So what now,” Parvati asked, and Harry remembered she was standing right next to him.

“Uhm,” he looked around. “I’m thirsty.” He wasn’t.

“Careful!” a foreign voice said, and Harry turned his head just as a floating tray of crystal flutes moved past his ear. A nimble hand grasped two of them before the tray made its way elsewhere, and suddenly Harry was confronted with the most _blue_ eyes he’d ever seen.

“These,” the boy the eyes belonged to said, and nodded after the dangerous tray, “may be a nice idea, but the execution is done… poorly,” he continued with his French accent. Harry swallowed. “If you do the spell right, they behave well and make up fine servants, I saw it back home at several occasions,” the boy smiled knowingly. His hair looked like honey.

“Harry!” That was definitely a voice he knew. “There you are. I knew you wouldn’t be dancing. Did you see Hermione?”

The boy lifted his glass and took a sip. His lips were tinted pink.

“Ey, what’s going on? Harry? Parvati?” Ron nudged him.

“Yes.” With the feeling of working against magnetic force, he turned his head and looked at his best friend. There was a piece of ruffle still dangling from the collar of his robes.

“What’re you two staring at?” Ron waved in the direction of the Beauxbaton student, who was now handing a 6th year Ravenclaw girl the second flute before offering her his arm. She took it and fluttered her eyes at him. Harry blinked slowly.

“What’s going on mate? Have you seen Hermione? Hey,” Ron sounded genuinely annoyed. “Merlin’s beard, what is _with_ everyone! Have you all gone mad!”

As the Beauxbaton boy and his date moved away, the girl stumbled over her robes.

“Yeah,” Harry managed, “my thoughts exactly.”


End file.
